Love & Peace
by JanessaBess
Summary: When Thomas pulls the trigger his shot misses and kills John Smith instead of Kocoum. Trying to make sense of the tragedy Pocahontas must put aside her grief over her first love in hopes of stopping the war that is about to break out against her people. She enlists the help of Kocoum and in her quest for peace she might just find love again.
1. Chapter 1

She kept going back to that moment, over and over again in her mind. Everything had happened so quickly; the kiss, the fight, the shot. The shot intended for Kocoum. Instead she was watching from a hidden place as the white men performed a ceremony to commit her first love back to the Earth. Although a part of her knew that his spirit would always be with her, no matter where she went, the rest of her knew her life would never be the same. She also knew she had little time to dwell on her heartbreak, her people were about to go to war with these white men, and now both she and Kocoum were fully aware of the damage their thunderous weapons could do. The medicines of the Powhatan's were strong, but not strong enough to bring a warrior back from the dead.

A hand suddenly descended upon her bare shoulder and she knew by the silence of his approach it was Kocoum. She turned, her intent full of anger; he had caused this. If he hadn't followed her, if he hadn't attacked John Smith... But it melted away when she saw the sympathy on his face. A single, silent tear escaped her eye, cascading down her cheek. Kocoum wiped it away and looked down.

"Pocahontas, I am truly sorry."

She bit her lip to keep more tears from coming. "You couldn't have known. What is done is done."

"Pocahontas, I"- he had stepped closer to her, his hand sliding down her arm to take her hand.

"Please, we will talk later. Right now..." she trailed off as she began walking away from him.

He didn't argue with her, or ask her to stay. He knew he couldn't. He knew she needed to grieve and he knew more than anything that it was his fault. He loved her, and all had managed to do was break her heart. Instead he turned his attention to the strange ceremony going on below them, in the camp of the white men. As they began filling in the grave, the red-haired man who had killed John Smith was placing a grave marker made of two sticks crossed and tied together. Kocoum knew that although these men were grieving for their lost friend as well, it wouldn't be long before they attacked and the war began. He would have little time to think of Pocahontas and her heartbreak, instead he would have to throw all of his emotion into protecting her, protecting their village and their people. Even with the warriors from their sister tribes, Kocoum knew now that fighting the weapons of the white man would be an uneven match. War clubs, axes and knives and bows were nothing against the metal weapons that had killed Pocahontas' lover. The red-haired man had been at a great distance, and like an arrow the small metal piece had buried itself into the man's flesh, immovable.

All through his meeting with the Elders, the warriors and the chiefs he had recounted the story, explaining what he understood of the weapons to help prepare their warriors for the coming battle. In his mind, the scene played out very differently though. The shot had been intended to hit him. To kill him. If Pocahontas hadn't summoned the strength to knock him off of the white man, it would have been his death. He also realized it could have been hers, her attempt to move him had put her right in the path of the small metal arrow, but instead the white man stood, only to meet his death. No matter how sorry he was for Pocahontas' grief, it was more important that she had lived, and he knew he was glad the weapon had killed the white man.

Pocahontas stood on the face of the cliff, the wind blowing her hair. For a moment she contemplated flinging herself off the edge. She needed to feel a rush, to feel something that wasn't crippling pain and heartbreak. She was never going to see John Smith again. And what was worse, her people were about to go to war with the white men who had killed one of their own. Their weapons were strong, and though their number was fewer, she knew now that one of those metal weapons could kill a man in a single shot. Being with John Smith had helped her realize that this war, any war, was not the answer. That was what she needed to focus on. She knew that Kocoum had met with the warriors at her father's lodge, had told them of the white men's advantages, but she hadn't attended out of grief. Perhaps that had been her mistake.

She needed to talk to Kocoum, she realized. He may be a warrior, but he knew the strength of these weapons as well, maybe he could see that seeking peace was a better option. And he was intelligent and good with strategy, if he could think of a way to bring peace between their tribe and the white men, he could convince her father, the Elders and the warriors, and maybe even the white men themselves. It looked like she was going to have to pair up with Kocoum no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

Pocahontas walked slowly back to the village, allowing the energy from the Earth to flow through her bare feet and into her body. It felt good to focus on that. It felt green and pure and helped her breath despite the gaping hole in her chest that seemed to be threatening to tear her in two. She knew she would feel better eventually. She had seen many people in her village cope with death. She had even remembered her own mother's death, and how difficult it had been for her father. But for now the pain was nearly unbearable.

She needed to find a way to focus now. To focus on stopping a war. She knew her people would lose, or even if they won, there wouldn't be many left to celebrate the victory. Her cousins, her friends, would all be devastated by a war, their village would never be the same. And the warriors who had travelled would never return to their families.

She felt as though this was all her fault, but in the same instant she knew self pity wouldn't get her anywhere. As she weaved her way through the corn that surrounded the village a rustling sound stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart slowed when she realized it wouldn't be John Smith coming to whisk her away in secret as he had before. Instead, she came upon Nakoma locked in kiss with a man from their village.

The two broke apart when they heard her arrive and the man slipped away leaving the two friends alone together.

"Well that's new," Pocahontas said giving her friend a crooked grin.

"Actually…" Nakoma responded. "You missed a lot while you were cavorting with—"

Pocahontas put a hand up to silence her. It was too soon and Nakoma knew it.

"Pocahontas, he was the enemy. There is something wrong with those people. His own brother killed him! They're unnatural."

"He was trying to kill Kocoum," Pocahontas snapped. She realized that made nothing sound better when Nakoma raised her eyebrows.

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I sent Kocoum after you because I was worried. I didn't trust him. I didn't trust his people. And it turns out I was right. I know that won't make it better… It won't bring him back, I know that. But, Pocahontas, I'm sorry."

"Nakoma, please."

"Pocahontas just listen to me."

"No, I don't want to listen. To you, or to anyone here."

"You're being childish!" Nakoma raged.

But Pocahontas didn't want to listen, she turned from her friend and began to run. She ran through the village, passing warriors as she went until she reached the river. Without breaking stride, she pushed a canoe off-shore and jumped in. Grandmother Willow would know what to do about this. She always had the answers.

But Grandmother Willow didn't respond to her arrival and so Pocahontas sat on her boughs in tears. How could she distract herself when even her best friend was intent on pointing out her every mistake? How could she take comfort in anything? How could she even move on when she felt so alone? She knew she couldn't talk to her Father about this. He was angrier with her than she had ever seen him, and like Nakoma said, he had good reason.

And Nakoma, acting as if her love affair with a man from their own tribe was something special. Pocahontas had never chosen to love John Smith. It had been true that she had been uninterested in being wed to Kocoum, but Nakoma acted as if her feelings for John Smith were some childish act of rebellion. Why else would she have continually sent Kocoum to find her? All she had managed to do was hurt Kocoum's feelings and nearly get him killed.

Her tears were slowly starting to subside now and she felt a mess. She could barely hold a train of thought. She slid her hands to her hair and began to braid it down her back as she tried her best to compose herself. The war. Nakoma must know about the war. And the man she was with was clearly a warrior. Maybe she would have an interest in finding a path for peace.

She sighed, reaching the place in her braid that she could never reach properly and so it often ran crooked. Suddenly a new pair of hands took over and she jolted and turned.

"Kocoum!"


	3. Chapter 3

"I thought I might find you here," he said softly.

"How?" she turned, half annoyed but half curious.

"I've seen you go this way before, when I followed you the other night, it wasn't new to me. I had never come so closely, but I wasn't surprised when you slipped away going this direction."

"You didn't need to follow me again," Pocahontas uttered. Now she was just annoyed. Hadn't he done enough? Now here he was, still following her, and to the place it had all happened. It had been right under Grandmother Willow's branches that he had seen her with John Smith, attacked him, and almost been killed himself.

"Pocahontas," Kocoum sighed. "It is still dangerous to be out here alone. We're on the verge of a war with the pale faces. The very first thing they'd do was kidnap the daughter of a chief!"

She knew he was right. Of course he was right.

"Kocoum, the war…"

When she didn't continue he raised an eyebrow.

"Kocoum, we can't fight them. This is what John and I were talking about that… That night…"

"Oh Pocahontas," Kocoum moaned. He turned and walked away from him rubbing his temples. "You don't think that maybe he was just telling you to stop the war so that the pale faces would take us by surprise?"

"You're not serious are?" her voice pierced through two octaves. "It wasn't even his idea, he swore his men wouldn't listen but he was willing to try because…"

"Because?"

Because of her. Because Grandmother Willow had opened their eyes to how a war would put them on opposite sides. He was willing to try to stop it so that they could be together.

"Because he loved me. And I didn't want to see our people being killed."

She saw immediately that this brought Kocoum up short. She knew he loved her, so if he thought that John had been willing to stop the fighting for that very reason than he would at least have to match him, if not out-bid him in some way. While she was on his little fibbing streak she figured she would go one step further.

"Now John is gone, and you're all I have left," she looked down so the lie wouldn't echo in her eyes. "If we go to war with the pale faces, I could lose you both."

Again, Kocoum was silent. Pocahontas looked up through her eyelashes to see that his face looked torn.

After a long silence, he finally spoke. "Pocahontas," he whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair back into the braid he had finished for her. "I'm a warrior. This is my duty to our people. This is my duty to protect you."

She moved his hand away and stepped back from him, looking into his brown-black eyes.

"If we never went to war I would be protected. Our people would be safe. Even our warriors. Even you."

"And wouldn't we look like cowards. To our brothers, to the pale faces. Warriors who don't even fight for their people."

"Kocoum, listen well. Whether you help me or not I will find a way to stop this war."

"Pocahontas, don't you dare put yourself in harms way."

"If you are so righteous to do it, for me, and for our people, then why not me? Why can't I put my life on the line to save our people? Or lands? Or lives?"

Her retort was good, he had to admit. He had no answer for that because he knew, in his heart, she was right. But he also knew, just as deeply, that for him to surrender would be a great sign of cowardice. How would a warrior live up to shame so great?

When Kocoum finally looked back to her, he realized she had already departed. Her canoe was gliding across the river, back upstream to the village. Instead of following her again, he sighed and perched on a root. How had he managed to fall in love with such a stubborn, erratic, and naïve woman? He had never imagined this. When he had asked her father for her hand in marriage, he had assumed she would agree, they would be wed and their round house would be built and many children would follow. Instead all of this had begun and now here he was sitting on a giant stump staring at a tree that he could swear looked exactly like a face.

"Well you're right about that" crooned the voice of an old woman.

Confused, Kocoum looked around him.

"Young man, for a warrior you're not very bright."

The tree… The tree was talking to him. The tree that looked like a face was having a conversation with him.

"Why did you think she comes out here all the time?" Grandmother Willow said with a smile. "She's not the type to just sit by herself and think."

Finally, Kocoum found his mouth. "She comes… to speak to you?"

"Exactly right. Maybe you've got a brain up in that head of yours after all. But I can't say you use it all that well."

Kocoum was about to give an irritated response but stopped himself. Was he really going to argue with a tree?

"You see, dear, that young woman that just stood in front of you asking for your help is hurting. She is hurting from something that could have been prevented. And this war she's asking you to stop can be prevented as well. Because she won't be the only one hurting if it continues."

"It's not that simple," Kocoum stated.

"And you know, John Smith said those same words when I was trying to advise the two of them. You see, maybe you aren't all that different from him."

"What? How can you say that? I'm nothing like that pale faced demon." Kocoum was mad now. How could she think he was anything like that John Smith.

"Think about it, he was a warrior for his people, you for yours. You both loved the same woman—"

"He didn't love her! He was using her for some ends!" How could she not have seen what was so blatantly obvious?

"Kocoum, what you want to believe doesn't matter. The truth is what matters. You and John Smith were more similar than you may like to admit, and so of all the people Pocahontas would come to, she's chosen to come to you. Just think about that."

Before Kocoum could speak again, continue his argument, the face in the willow bark had gone still and he let out an exasperated sigh. He had just spoken with a tree. He had just argued with a tree. What was the world coming to?


End file.
